


Sweet Dreams and A Murder Mystery

by Obscure_but_Here



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Agent Carter - Freeform, Cartinelli - Freeform, F/F, SSR
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 08:59:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16615928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obscure_but_Here/pseuds/Obscure_but_Here
Summary: After the suspicious death of her brother Angie is determined to find out what happened to him. A certain Agent is involved.Cartinelli.





	1. Dominoes Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maggiemerc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maggiemerc/gifts).



> Sorry, I can't seem to settle on a story.  
> Already done 2 chapters of this though, so hopefully this is the one.
> 
> Gifted to Maggiemerc cause theirs was the first Cartinelli fic that I read and subsequently got me fixed on it.

 

If there is one thing Angie can say with certainty it’s that she is good with accents. You don’t aspire to get to the top of Broadway without that particular skill, so she can spot a phoney American accent when it crosses her path. And this dame- this dame has the phoniest accent she has ever had the misfortune of hearing. 

 

‘’Are you Russian?”

 

She interrupted the woman she was only half listening to, ‘Elizabeth Day,’ a name she suspected was as fake as her accent.

 

“I- what?” Elizabeth spluttered, eyes going wide.  

 

“Russian. Or German maybe? Not that I’d be judgin’ if you were. Well unless you were planning to start World War Three that is,” She smiled sweetly and tilted her head, “You aren’t going to start World War Three are you?”

 

The woman seemed frozen in place, only her mouth was moving as if she was struggling to form words. It was the shock of being caught Angie figured.

 

She waited patiently as Elizabeth composed herself, back straightening and stance widening.

 

“I can assure you I am not planning on starting any wars. And I am from America actually, New York.’

 

Not dropping the act then. She had to admit, she admired the commitment, but really, who does she think she’s fooling. 

 

“That’s funny, that’s where I’m from too. Whereabouts?”

 

“Manhattan,” she replied, not missing a beat.

 

Angie rolled her eyes, she had to go on stage in 5 and there is no way she’s letting Elizabeth Day backstage without getting the truth.

 

“Honey, that accent ain’t fooling nobody.’’

 

Elizabeth looked affronted, “Excuse- there is nothing wrong with my accent.”   

 

Angie squinted at her in concentration, there was something familiar about the dialect and the slight rounded edge to her words.

 

“English!” She almost face palmed, “I ran straight into you, but you’re the one who apologised. And your vocabulary sounds like it came straight from The Big B Palace. How did I not realise sooner. Russian.” She snorted in amusement. 

 

She looked at Elizabeth and boy, if she had looked affronted before, now she looked down right murderous. 

 

“I’ve never had any complaints before.” She muttered, still scowling. And then sighed heavily.

 

“Alright, yes I’m from England. Are you quite happy now?” She dropped the god-awful accent she had been carrying before and Angie found her real one much more pleasant to listen to.

 

She grinned at glowering brunette  and nodded, rather proud of herself.

 

“So, English. Now we’ve established you aren’t a commie here to destroy the US of A, what was with the fake accent? And why exactly do you want to go backstage, without a pass?’’

 

Elizabeth Day sent her stare skyward, radiating a strong ‘why me?’ vibe. 

 

“For the love of God, this is getting ridiculous.” 

 

“Oh now it's getting ridiculous?” Angie asked incredulously. “Someone questioning why a drop-dead-gorgeous gal would come into a run-down theatre, only to try and sneak backstage with a terrible terrible American accent, is ridiculous?”

 

Elizabeth seemed to be getting more frustrated the longer Angie rambled and started stepping closer to her with unknown intent.

 

“Are you looking for drugs? Because not all actors- Mmfff!” A strangled noise escaped her as she was rudely cut off by possible drug-addicted, red coated lips pressing against hers.

 

And really. What's a girl to do but kiss back.      

 

It only lasted a few moments before she started to feel  _ off _ , dizzy, but not in the usual kissing beautiful women way. 

 

She opened her eyes and pulled back, growing alarmed at her rapidly blurring vision. A heavy and woozy feeling draped over her and she slumped forwards, falling into soft hands.

 

“Jeez English, give a girl a little warning next time,” she managed to say, albeit shakily. 

 

The pointed look she was given in return was still exasperated, although Angie did proudly note that her lipstick was smeared and a flustered pink had appeared high on her cheeks. 

 

“Absolutely ridiculous,” Elizabeth repeated, before lowering her to the ground. Just in time too, because Angie’s vision blacked out completely moments after and she felt her brain switching off.

 

She could have sworn she heard a murmured “Sweet dreams,” before she drifted into darkness.

* * *

 

 

Angie roused with a head feeling like it had been stuffed full of sand.

 

She sat up slowly, letting out a groan of pain as she feebly tried to gather her thoughts.

 

_ What happened? _

 

Her head shot up at an alarmed, ‘’Miss Martinelli?” Leo, a worried and confused looking stagehand, hurried towards her.

 

“What happened? Are you okay? You missed the rehearsal so I came to find you.’’

 

Angie shook her head bewildered, the same questions were running through her own mind.

 

‘’Last thing I remembered was heading through backstage. Guess I must have fainted or something.”

 

“Did you hit your head? Maybe we should get you to a hospital.” 

 

“I can live without their prodding and poking, thanks though Leo. Could you help me up?”

 

He nodded and gave her his arm to pull herself up with, continuing to talk all the while.

 

“Liz was thrilled to take your place, I think she’s hoping you ran off to Canada or something.” 

 

Angie scowled at the reminder of her reptile of an understudy, “I bet she was and that’s the only chance of being in the spotlight that shrew will ever get.’’ 

 

Leo grinned, holding Liz in almost as much disaster as Angie herself, but it quickly faded when a loud groan came from a nearby dressing room. 

 

They looked at each other in alarm, before hurrying in the direction of the noise. They paused outside the room, hesitant, before Angie knocked on the door, ‘I’m coming in” -

 

-and saw four guys knocked out cold.

 

Angie wasn’t sure whether to step forward or backwards in alarm, to help or to get the hell out of there, but then one of the men let out another pained grunt and Angie looked at his face.

 

The face of her brother. 

 

Her eyes blew wide and she let out a gasp; “Freddie?”

 

Leo took one look at the unconscious bodies and ran off, “I’ll go find help.”

 

Angie barely remembered to nod, before kneeling down next to her brother, taking notice of his already darkening eye and bleeding nose. 

 

“Freds? C'mon buddy, up and at ‘em.

 

She barely got a snore in response. 

 

“Okay, then we’ll do this the hard way. Ma’s hangover cure should do the trick.”

 

Angie looked around the room for inspiration and verbally ah-ha’d at the flowers sitting at one of the mirrored tables. 

 

She unceremoniously flung them out the vase- roses were so cliche anyway- and chucked the remaining water all over her brothers bruised face.

 

He spluttered and bolted upright, eyes zigzagging around the room in alarm, before clocking Angie, vase still in hand.

 

“What the hell Ange?”

 

“That’s what I should be asking. Why are you and three other fella’s all trussed up like a thanksgiving turkeys, in a dressing room, in  _ my  _ theatre?” 

 

Freddie scratched the back of his head that, and recoiled with a wince a second later, frowning in confusion. 

 

“I- we were about to - and then -” his eyes widened with anger. “That puttana.”

 

“What the hell are you talking about Freddie?”

 

He looked to the side, an obvious avoidance of eye contact and his jaw set stubbornly. 

 

If he thinks the silent treatment was the right move- he’s got another thing coming. 

 

“I’ll tell Ma. About the cussing and all.”

 

He eyed her in betrayal, “You wouldn’t.”

 

Angie lifted her chin and smirked. “Like I wouldn’t set fire to David Frinksy’s truck?”

 

Freddy’s scowl deepened, but a slump in shoulders revealed Angie’s victory. 

 

“Fine. But later okay?”    

 

Angie opened her mouth to protest, but her brother shook his head. “These guys will kill me if they knew I was gonna squeal. Later.’’ 

 

She nodded reluctantly and not a moment too soon because a second later Leo burst in, help on his heels.

  
  


Two days later, Freddy died. 

 

According to the hospital it was due to ‘complications with his injuries,’ but Angie knew you didn’t just up and die from a broken rib, sprained wrist and bruised face. 

 

Which led to the obvious question- who killed her brother?

 

He never did get around to explaining what he and his buddies were doing in the theatre room, which she could feel eating at her, as well as guilt, frustration and grief. Suffice to say, Angie didn’t think she was in the best headspace to go catching a killer. Not that she would let that stop her.

 

So far she had a list of three grouped suspects. 

 

  1. The Puttana. ( Good at beating fella’s up. No other details known.)
  2. One of his buddies. (Joe, Pett and Tony. Italian mobsters.)
  3. Whoever they were there to meet. (No other details known.)



 

It wasn’t the most helpful of leads, but a start is a start, and that is exactly what number 2 gave her.

 

It was quite easy to figure out Joe, Pett and Tony’s choice of job, as they were in hospital rooms not far from Freddie’s and neither they or their visitors were very quiet. She overheard plenty of illicit activities they were involved in and none of them were pretty.  

 

She couldn’t believe her brother had joined them and she hadn’t even realised it. It was sort of inevitable though, she supposed. She had four cousins and an uncle in that life and there weren’t many legal ways, for a 20-something Italian from a working class background, to move up in the world in Brooklyn NY. 

 

So no, she wasn’t surprised, she just--  _ how  _ could she not have noticed.

 

She let out a sigh and physically shook her head. No good dwelling, all she can do now is give him some peace beyond the grave.

 

Angie did find it a little suspect that her brother was the only one of the four to die. Which moved Tweedle dum, Tweedle dee and Tweedle dipshit to number one of her list. But there would be no damnation without proof, which is exactly what she was going to get.

Only one of them hadn’t been released from hospital yet, so Pett Palici was her target. 

 

She knocked on his door, a smile plastered on her face, flowers in her hand and murder on her mind.

 

“How can I help you sweetheart?”

 

“Mr Palici! It’s just an honour to meet you, look at me I’m blushing!’’ Thanks to the rose palet she dabbed on earlier.

 

“It is?” Pett asked, confused. His black hair had been slicked back and he was growing a wispy moustache, as young men tend to do, and as far as the mob ladder goes, he was not high up the rungs, in fact, none of the guys in that room were. So she understood his confusion, she doubted he had much attention shown his way, something that was key to her strategy.

 

“Well of course, you are one of the survivors of the theatre killing.” She lent down to shake his hand, allowing her dress to show certain assets as she did so.    

 

He accepted the handshake, but frowned. “Theatre killing?” 

 

“Joe Cilli, Tony Lears and-” she had to swallow, she hadn’t said his name out loud since- “Freddie Martinelli. They all died just days after you were all found beaten, under suspicious circumstances, and you are the sole survivor.” She smiled pleasantly, “Well, for now that is.”

 

Pett sat up straight, eyes going wide. “No, Fred is the only one who died, from his injuries. I spoke to Joe and Tony yesterday, they couldn’t be-”

 

Angie raised a hand to her mouth, “Oh I am so sorry, I thought you knew. They were found dead in their apartment, this morning.”          

New terror entered Pett’s eyes and panic filled his voice, “Shit. Shit, shit shit. I’ve gotta get out of here.”

 

“Hold on Mr Palici, that’s what I came to talk to you about. My name is Angela Martin, I’m with-” she lowered her voice and leaned towards him conspicuously, “a secret government agency.” 

 

At this Pett looked incredulous. Which she was also expecting and thanked God that Leo happened to be great a frauding documents, due to a misspent youth making fake ID’s. 

 

She reached into her pocket and drew out her shiny new government ID, with a leather casing and all. All in all it had cost over $50 dollars, so it better be worth it. 

 

Pett took it, frown still in place, and stared.  

 

“Angela Martin, SSR? What does that stand for?”

 

It stands for a bunch of made up letters for a made up secret agent branch, but she couldn’t exactly say that. 

 

“Shielding Secrets … Roundwise.” 

 

“Roundwise?”

 

“Like around the world. We are based in America but have global interest. I can provide you with protection, you are an important person in a case that holds a great deal of interest to us.”

 

He actually believed her, she could see it on his face. 

 

“Like bodyguards? And a safehouse?”

 

“Yeah exactly like that.” Angie smiled, a genuine one this time. “All you have to do is tell me everything you know. Why were you there and who do you think killed the others?”

 

Pett was already shaking his head. “No way. I can’t do that. I can’t betray them.” 

 

“You are going to be killed anyway. This is your only chance of safety.”

 

He shook his head again, so Angie shrugged.

 

“Very well Mr Palici. Enjoy seeing your friends in the afterlife.” She put the flowers down at his bedside table and walked towards the door, counting down her steps.

 

Five.

 

Four.

 

Three.

 

Two.

 

One.

 

“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you.” 

 

Angie grinned.

* * *

 

Angie’s head was going to explode.

 

There was just no way. 

 

She was expecting drugs or- or something. But not this.

 

Not a secret evil agency called ‘Hydra,’ not a secret serem trying to replicate what made Captain America and not her idiot brother signing up to be a labrat for them, in some twisted deal with the Italian mob.

 

Pett had tried to explain it, but it was clear that he didn’t even know half the details. 

 

Or why her brother was dead.

 

What she did know, is that their meeting with a Hydra operative was interrupted, by ‘The Puttana,’ hence finding them beaten up in the theatre room.

 

As for why it took place there...Freddie told them he had ‘connections’ and that it would be a safe place for them to not be walked in on. Those connections meaning Angie, and knowing everyone would be at rehearsals. 

 

But that didn’t explain why it was only Freddie who was killed, not the other three goons, or who did it. She didn’t believe Pett or his friends did, not after their conversation, so she crossed them off the list.

 

Getting answers from her new and improved hit list seemed slightly more difficult than dealing with Pett.

 

So yeah, Angie’s head was about to explode and she had a shift at the diner. Bills don’t stop for murder mysteries after all.

It was actually a relief to get back to the normalcy of everyday life and it was easier to pretend everything was peachy when she was too busy dealing with her boss screaming or rude customers to think of anything else.

 

-Apart from that drop dead gorgeous gal who just walked in.

 

Perfect dark hair coiffed to the shoulder and framing that  _ face _ , with a jawline that Angie could just-

 

“Hey missy, you think you could get me a coffee that is actually hot?”

 

It was hot when Angie served it 30 minutes ago.

 

But she turned with a falsetto smile, “Of course sir, I’ll be just a minute.’’

 

So she went to the kitchen, got a fresh cup of coffee, was about to make her way back around the front counter when she came face to face with the jawline she had been admiring earlier. 

 

“I bet it just makes you want to kill them, the way they talk to you.” 

 

That voice, that  _ accent. _

 

The mug Angie was holding crashed to the ground.

 

“You!”

 

It all came flooding back; Elizabeth Day, the fake accent, the kiss. 

 

And with that memory she was able to make connections at rapid speed. 

 

Elizabeth Day knocked her out, with poison lipstick or something and was probably ‘The Puttana’ who knocked out the guys and possibly killed her brother.

 

So Angie did what any rational human would do.

 

She ran.

 

She sprinted back through the kitchen, avoiding the annoyed yelling of the diner cookers, and straight to the employee backdoor. 

 

Fear pumped through her, maybe Elizabeth Day was a Hydra assassin sent to kill her for knowing too much, just like her brother.

 

She was concentrating so much on if someone was following her, that she forgot to look in front of her and let out a yelp as her arms were suddenly twisted behind her and wrists handcuffed.  

 

“I’m Agent Thompson and you are under arrest for interpreting an officer and suspicion of collaborating with terrorists.”

  
  



	2. Apple Pie and Secret Organisations

Angie had been stuck in this stupid interrogation room for half the night, at least. They had not even deigned to talk to her, they seemed perfectly content just letting her stew in silence. 

 

And it was working.

 

She would sing like a canary- if she had anything to sing about. Which she didn’t. Mostly.

 

She drummed her fingers on the table in frustration, as she had been doing for the last three hours. Well that and staring into the obvious two-way mirror that stretched across an entire wall of the room. She imagined she was having a fun stare-out competition with someone on the other side. Or just with her reflection.

 

‘’I’m ready to talk,” she tried. She felt stupid and like she was talking to herself, but her effort didn’t go to waste, because not ten minutes later, Agent Twitson strolled in.

 

He threw a folder onto the table in front of her and swung the opposite chair around so he could sit in it backwards. 

 

And really, that’s supposed to be intimidating? She rolled her eyes.

 

Which probably wasn’t the best move to do in front of an already angry interrogator. 

 

Oh well.

 

She pointed to the folder, “Am I supposed to know what’s in there?”

 

He smiled, coldly. “Better than anyone. But go ahead, take a look.”

 

Angie huffed a sigh, she’s not sure what they  _ think  _ they have on her, but-

 

-she froze.

 

And okay, she should have guessed that the folder would involve her, but not to this extremity. 

 

The first thing she was faced with was her illicit government ID, it was beyond Angie how they managed to get that. She could have sworn it was under her bed at the Griffith. And then there were photos, dozens of them; leaving the theatre room with her brother, seeing him at the hospital, a whole section with her conversation with Pett. And then there were old photos, back when her mother and Uncle actually spoke to one another, sat on her Uncle’s knees with a gappy smile and grazed knees.

 

“What is this?”

Agent Twitson spoke as if she hadn’t said anything, “See, our theory is that you joined the family mob business and wanted a quick way to climb the promotion ladder.”

 

Angie opened her mouth to interject and obviously deny the bullshit he was peddling, but he raised his hand and slammed it on the table. 

 

She didn’t jump.

 

Well maybe a little. 

 

He carried on as if nothing had happened and Angie didn’t bother trying to interrupt, let him monologue himself to exhaustion for all she cared.

 

“Hydra making alliances with the mob was the perfect opportunity for it, they need to recruit for people to test out their new drug, you needed a way in.” 

 

Angie raised a brow at his pause, she had gathered this much from talking to Pett, although she still didn’t have a clue who ‘Hydra’ was or how the hell they think she tie into it. 

 

“But it went wrong didn’t it? The meet was intercepted, but we doubt that will be a preventative for long. So tell us, when will the next meetup with Hydra be and why were you impersonating an SSR agent?”                                                                                                                          

 

Angie blinked. 

 

“Am I allowed to talk now?”

 

The agent scowled, “Answer the questions, before we do this the hard way.”

 

“First off, I don’t know what the hell Hydra is, but it sounds like the name of a grunge rock band. Secondly, how can I impercinate something that’s not real, I mean okay the fake ID was probably a no-go, but does it really deserve all this.”

“Not real?” 

 

“What part of Shielding Secrets Roundwise sounds real? I made it up. I just needed Pett to believe I worked for the government, so I could find out what happened to my brother.”

 

An incredulous look passed over the Agent’s face.

 

“Where do you think you are right now?”

 

“I hope New York, public transport is a pain as it is and I don’t want to-”

She stopped at his expression. “A police station would be my guess?” She leaned in, “It’s not CIA is it?” She rolled her eyes with a scoff.

 

“No. We are not the CIA,”

 

“It was a joke,” Angie interrupted, “I mean really, this isn’t a movie.”

 

“We are not the CIA,” he repeated, “We are SSR. Strategic Scientific Reserve.”

 

She stared at him.

 

“What?”

 

“Don’t play dumb. You didn’t accidentally pretend to be a SRR agent, whatever the alternative acronym you came up with.”

 

“I chose just some random letters!” Angie defended, really feeling annoyed at this whole situation and possibly (definitely) in shock.

 

“Look, Agent Twi-Thompson, I work at a rundown diner and do shows at a local theatre. I haven’t even seen my uncle in 10 years, let alone conspire with him and I had never heard of Hydra before today. My brother was killed and apparently working with bad guys, it’s been a hell of a week, so I’d like to go home.”

 

She looked at his stony face plaintively, “ _ Please.” _

 

There was a hard tap on the glass behind him- ha, she knew there was someone behind it- and he sighed, but stood up, taking the folder with him. 

 

“Don’t go anywhere.” 

 

She communicated ‘really?’ nonverbally, by raising her still handcuffed wrists. 

 

And then she was alone, again. 

 

She slumped, resting her head on the hard metallic table, exhaustion was starting to creep in. It really had been a roller coaster of events and her body was starting to catch up to her mind.

 

By the time he had come back into the room Angie’s eyes had closed and she was on the verge of sleep, brain shutting off and a foggy haze settling over her like a warm blanket.

 

She was rudely awakened by a loud, purposeful cough.

 

Angie raised her head with a scowl. 

 

“What?”

 

Agent Twitson crossed his arms, “I came to let you out, but since you look so comfy I could just-”

 

He reached out for the door handle and Angie jolted, suddenly awake. “No!”

 

He smirked, “Thought so,” and released her wrists, which ached something wicked. She tried to rub life back into them with a grimace, whilst edging towards the door. 

 

“So I can just go?”

 

He nodded, not looking very happy about it. 

 

“For now. But we’ll be watching you.”

 

They walked out together, passing a room full of desks and serious looking people. Thompson paused by one, and Angie looked at the back of a brunette's head with dawning recognition.

 

“I believe you have met Agent Carter. You’ll be seeing a lot more of her.”

 

The head turned to look her straight in the eyes and Angie stepped back in alarm.

 

“You!” A sense of deja vu ran through her with the exclamation.

 

“Me.” Elizabeth Day, or Agent Carter - she  _ knew _ that name had been a fake- smiled sardonically.  

 

Angie turned to Thompson, aghast. “But she knocked me out!”

 

“You weren’t complaining at the time.” Agent Carter, said nonchalantly and turned her attention back to the paperwork in front of her.

 

Angie might just continue calling her The Bitch at this rate.

 

“It’s not like I knew what was happening or that your kiss was poisonous.”

 

Agent Thompson piqued up. “Kiss?”

 

“Shut up.” She and English spoke in unison, before scowling at each other again.

 

Angie huffed a frustrated sigh, turned around and marched straight outta there.

Sleep was calling. 

 

Secret organisations and agents could wait ‘till morning.

* * *

 

  
  
  


She couldn’t even say she was surprised when she went downstairs for breakfast at the Griffith and found English already sat there, happily devouring a plate of eggs and bacon.

 

She grabbed a coffee before taking a seat in front of the other woman. 

 

“G’morning,” she mumbled. Still groggy, and so not a morning person, but refusing to let annoyance work the manners out of her. Her Ma worked so hard to ingrain them and it’d be a shame for the effort to go to waste.

 

English raised an eyebrow but replied. 

 

“Good morning.”

 

Angie watched, slightly disgusted, but intrigued, as she shovelled more food into her mouth with an alarming capacity. 

 

Her staring was interrupted as Helen and Mary joined them, with greetings of their own. 

 

“You must be new then?” Helen asked, always the gossip, “Welcome to The Griffith.”

 

English smiled politely and nodded, “Peggy Carter. Yes, it makes less of a commute to work.” Her eyes flashed to Angie briefly, who grit her teeth. Ass.

 

“Where is it you work then, English?” Angie asked, mostly to try and get a rise and break that stoic expression that seemed to have permanent residence. 

 

It didn’t work.

 

“A telephone company,” she replied, smooth as anything. Angie would have believed her, if not for knowing the truth.

 

“Angie here works at the L&L Automat, not far from here. She’s always good for a slice of pie if you swing by.” Mary proffered, no doubt in the goodwill of trying to make the new girl comfortable, but Angie could kill her.

 

“I must swing by some time.” Peggy agreed and then stood. “Well it was nice meeting you all, but I must be off, no rest for the wicked and all that.” 

 

Angie waved a hand lazily, “I’m sure I’ll see you around,” and went back to drinking her coffee. 

 

The rest of her day went on as normal, as if she hadn’t been pulled into a tangle of conspiracy, murder, spies, and God knows what else.

 

She began with her usual phone call with her Ma, who had gotten increasingly overbearing since the death of her brother and then had a 8 hour shift at the diner, where she absolutely did not obsessively check the door for a certain brunette. 

 

And she assuredly was not miffed that a certain brunette didn’t deign to show up.

 

Instead, she moved to served the blonde woman with killer blue eyes and unusual looking man- on account of a painful looking scar that filled half his face. 

 

She figured it would be rude to stare so, but it was impossible to  _ not  _ look at, so she settled for focusing on the woman. 

 

“What can I get you both?”

 

Those blue eyes might be pretty, but she had never seen ones so  _ cold  _ before and Angie felt a shiver of improbable fear run through her as they settled on her.

 

She smiled uneasily but swallowed past it and continued.

 

“I recommend the apple pie. Cheese toasties aren’t bad either.”

 

She was responded with a scowl (it would be rude to not look at him at all) and a sugar-sweet smile. Which freaked her out more than anything- she did not trust people who smiled like that.

 

“Why a slice of pie would be just lovely, thank you honey.” 

 

She nodded, “And anything for you sir?” 

 

He glared.

 

“My friend here doesn’t speak, but I am sure a cup of tea would do him wonders.”

 

“No problemo, be back in five.” Angie flashed a smile before leaving with relief. She wasn’t one to feel alarmed just due to a physical difference (Her cousin Johnny had half his side burnt during the war), but there was an energy or  _ something  _ about them both that put her on edge.

 

And honestly, with the events of the last few days, Angie was going to take stock in her distrust. 

 

She wiped her sweaty palms on the front of her apron and went to the back of the diner to the phone. It was only after she had put it to her ear and had a finger hovering over the number dial that she realised she didn’t know Peggy’s or the SSR’s phone number. And they call themselves professionals.

 

She jumped as a voice spoke right in her ear, somehow able to get up close without her noticing.

 

“Who are you trying to call honey? I was waiting for my pie.”

 

Angie gulped and went to turn around but was stopped by a firm grip on her shoulder.

 

“There is no need for that. In fact, I think we should take a walk. Outside.’’

 

She felt something solid and heavy jam into the small of her back, the cold of it permeating through her blouse. 

 

It was a gun.


End file.
